


Somewhere in the Between

by hivehum



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Mild Gore, Mistletoe, Nonbinary Character, Other, Trans Character, will be ot4 if i continue this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hivehum/pseuds/hivehum
Summary: “That your dad?”“No way,” Noctis snarks. “Don’t even joke about that.”“Y’brother, then?” The partygoer slurs their words together.“Nooo,” they respond, slapping a card from their hand face down onto a pile. “He’s my… uh…”They turn to size up Gladio, and their flushed expression and sluggish movement make it evident what exactly was in those cups.“My friend,” they declare, confidently.“Your friend,” Gladio echoes, with a smug smile, “here to take you home.”





	Somewhere in the Between

It’s not really clear when they all started _dating_ , per say — it was something that came together gradually; a blurring of the lines. One day, they just… were.

But they have some idea when those lines began to blur.

For Gladio, it was years ago, on a too-late work night.

-

Yule is one of those celebrations where even the most dedicated party hounds get burnt out. The ramp up to the new year always feels like it takes up half the month and  _weeks_ of nightly parties tires out any soul.

So in the twilight hours of the year, the streets of Insomnia are frequently as they are now: deserted, with the faint sounds of get-togethers echoing across walls and alleys.

And it is one such get-together that Gladio crashes to retrieve the Prince. When he crosses through the ajar entrance and witnesses the dying embers of a wild party — cups on every surface, a stack of pizza boxes with the top cracked open and only mostly eaten, a speaker with clothes draped on it to dampen the music — it’s something he meets with bemusement. He wasn’t exactly one for partying at this age, and he has _no_ idea how Noct finds these people.

“ _Lucerna_ ,” he says, when he enters the living room and spots the prince playing a card game with two others, with a few more partygoers dozed off. He says the fake name clearly trying to hold off a laugh: after high school Noct decided to go by assumed identities out of exasperation for always being recognized as royalty, but their name choices were always so… direct.

“Yo,” _Lucerna_ replies, not looking up from their hand. Their reaction is slightly delayed, which makes Gladio suspicious.

“That your dad?” One of the conscious partygoers asks.

“No way,” _Lucerna_ snarks. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Y’brother, then?” The partygoer slurs their words together. Very suspicious.

“Nooo,” they respond, slapping a card from their hand face down onto a pile. “He’s my… uh…”

They turn to size up Gladio, and their flushed expression and sluggish movement make it evident what exactly was in those cups.

“My friend,” they declare, confidently.

“Your friend,” Gladio echoes, with a smug smile, “here to take you home.”

“Tell your friend what’s good,” the other partygoer says, suddenly, and gestures to something above Gladio’s head.

He looks up and, sure enough, the classic Yule prank has befallen him — tied above him, on the doorframe, is the distinct round green leaves and small white berries of a mistletoe. He clicks his tongue.

“Guess I gotta,” _Lucerna_ replies, and hops to their feet. They take a moment to steady themselves — probably not even aware of how inebriated they are — before marching right over to meet Gladio underneath the mistletoe.

It strikes Gladio as cute, the commanding demeanor that has suddenly taken Noct. They’re not quite ready to be king, for certain, but the attempt is _there_ , for once, and they stand almost equal, despite him having nearly a foot on them.

“Let’s go, Lucerna,” he says, and his hands go to his hips, looking down at the prince.

“Lean over,” they say, arms crossed indignantly. “You’re too tall. I can’t reach.”

“You’ll have to get me to kneel,” he responds.

Noctis snorts and glares up at him for a moment, before suddenly bracing themself, and —

A bassy crackle and explosion of blue and pink sparks fill Gladio’s vision and Noctis is draped around his neck. Their lips lock together and Gladio stumbles both from the sudden weight and the kiss that resulted.

It lasts only a moment before Noctis pulls back and looks at him, their gazes even, obviously pleased with themself. They have right to, all things considered: ignoring that a supposed commoner just used the power of kings in front of an audience, it was one of the most precise warps he had ever witnessed from Noct, and was even done without a focus. And they’re _drunk_ , to boot, and did it for a _kiss_.

Gladio takes advantage of surprise carrying the prince and departs from the scene, his arms supporting Noct from the bottom so as to not be choked out by them.

-

They end up on the subway, blessedly open 24 hours during Yule for people like them. Noct _insisted_ — “I’ll get in trouble if the Crownsguard come get us,” they whined, “not s’posed to be out this late, or, or, or…” — so on public transit they went, to Noct’s apartment.

Gladio perhaps senses an ulterior motive, for the entire journey he couldn’t convince Noctis to leave his arms, and even now, on the train, they’re draped across his lap, with their face buried in his neck.

It’s somewhat flattering. He’s never seen them like this, though he’s never seen them drink much before, either. They’re warm in his arms and their even exhales ghost against his skin. He feels warm, too, finding a strange sort of comfort in protecting the prince so literally, in the solitude of an empty train car.

Noctis stirs and brushes their face against Gladio’s cheek, and he feels them kiss his cheek, where the line of his beard fades into skin. He feels a lot warmer, suddenly.

“You’re drunk,” he says, a soft growl.

“It was nice,” they mumble, barely audible pressed against Gladio’s face. “Earlier. ‘Was nice earlier.”

They kiss him, again, a small peck. “Wanna do it again.”

How forward of them. He can do forward, too.

Gladio grasps Noctis’s chin and pulls them into a kiss of his own. They tense up for the briefest moment, but melt into his touch. A hand clumsily reaches up to cup his jaw and pull him in deeper.

But it lasts a moment before he pushes their chin away, and when they part he can tell that the flush in Noctis’s face is not just from the alcohol.

“You sure about that?” Gladio asks, and he’s certain he’s a bit flush, too.

Noct seems at a loss for words, looking at him blankly with their mouth just slightly agape. He releases their chin and they crumple back into the safety of his chest.

They’re clinging to him tighter now, he thinks, but he’s not so sure.

-

Off the subway at the correct station and Gladio manages to get Noctis to walk on their own two feet. They’re steady enough that he isn’t so worried about their being able to follow him, so he allows them to trail behind as they begin the short walk to the apartment complex.

It was, perhaps, a wise decision, for they turn a corner and a stranger is there, in a much worse state of intoxication than the prince. Just the very way this stranger walks towards them immediately sets off alarms in Gladio’s head and he makes very sure he is between him and the prince.

“You,” the stranger says, but Gladio can barely understand him. He can smell him from here, and the aroma grows only more pungent as he approaches.

But it’s not good to assume harm from a Crown City citizen, and he steadfastly refuses to do anything but stand and look intimidating.

“Don’t like the way you look,” the stranger declares, and gestures at Gladio — and Noctis, who he prays isn’t planning anything stupid. “Go home.”

“Back off,” Gladio cautions.

The stranger produces a knife. Of course.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Gladio says. He’s firm. He stands his ground.

“I gotta—” the stranger stumbles through his words, “— A New Yule’s Resolution. Stay true to myself. Listen to my gut.”

“And you,” the stranger gestures with the knife, far too close to Gladio’s face, “remind me of something I hate.”

The stranger moves with a flash and Gladio is blinded, a white hot sting eclipsing his vision. He hears something going on around him but, for the moment, the world is gone.

But he recovers, and his hand is on his face, which is wet and burns horribly, and Noctis is in front of him now. The assailant is gone.

“Shit, shit shit shit,” Noctis says, and it sounds like they’re sobering up fast. “Um, that escalated quickly, I—”

“I’m fine,” Gladio says. He can only see out of one eye, but he thinks the other just got blood in it.

“You’re not, I should’ve done something, I—”

“I’m _your_ Shield. I’m fine. It’s not deep.”

“You’re bleeding real bad,” Noctis says. “Hold on, I got this.”

“It’s fine, it’s just a scratch.”

But Noct has their jacket off and balled up in their hand and they press it against Gladio’s face, against the cut. They have to stand on their tiptoes to put pressure on it, but they’re trying their hardest.

Gladio has no idea what school of first aid Noct has learned from, but he finds the earnest and buzzed attempt cute. They’re not quite a king looking after their people, but they’re certainly trying.

His hand covers theirs and Noctis tenses at the gesture. Their eyes widen, just a bit, but they let go and return their hand to their side, leaving Gladio to cover up his own wound.

“Thanks,” Gladio says, soft. “I’ll patch this up when I get you home.”

-

With Noct nursing a glass of water, safe in their apartment, Gladio examines the damage in the bathroom mirror.

Worse than he thought. At this hour, it should warrant an ER trip for some stitches.

But it’s stopped bleeding, and he’s cleaned it, and he’s feeling irresponsible.

Noct is reclined on the couch when he returns to the living room, doing something on their phone. The glass of water is mostly untouched on the floor beside them.

“You’ll be miserable in the morning if you don’t stay hydrated,” Gladio says.

“Noted,” Noct replies in their usual, sober monotone.

As if reading his mind and without even looking at him, Noct curls up their legs to give Gladio room on the couch and replaces them on his lap once he sits.

“Gladio,” they start, as if they had something to say, but they don’t continue.

Gladio looks at them with distant curiosity.

“Bandaids are a good look on you,” they finish, dismissively.

It’s certainly not what they were going to say, and they both know it.

“Sure are,” Gladio responds.

Noct keeps the phone between them. Their lips are pursed.

“That all you were gonna say?” Gladio asks.

“You’re a good Shield,” Noct replies, cutting him off.

The compliment is a surprise. Noct is… clearly not done, either. They’re furiously avoiding eye contact and working up the will to say whatever’s on their mind. Gladio leans on the arm of the couch and waits.

“Because, um,” they continue, voice getting softer. “I feel really safe around you.”

“You’re dr—”

“I’m not,” they interrupt, indignant. “I mean it.”

Gladio laughs, in a flattered way. He reaches over to ruffle Noct’s hair, but they wrap their arms around him when he gets close enough and pull him to be level beside them on the couch.

They remain that way until the dawn wakes them.

**Author's Note:**

> hey gladnoct is good. thanks
> 
> as before big thanks to infel for proofreading/editing/bearing with me in general and also. pitching one of the things that happens. lmao. im sorry i will finish raviolus next i promise
> 
> title ref https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUSKX_aYhoY


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